


play it back, spinning faster

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, M/M, Pining, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Louis expects from his Caribbean cruise is many frozen alcoholic drinks and an even tan. He’s instead blindsided by a night with Harry Styles, and he tries to figure out how to stop leaving things to fate and start trying to make things happen for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	play it back, spinning faster

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This took a lot longer than anticipated, sorry. I wanted to get this up earlier in the week, but then Things Happened. I admit I proofread and britpicked myself while distracted so if there's anything egregious, feel free to message me. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is a fictional story based on the public images of these people. I do not intend to make any aspersions that their real-life counterparts behave or think like this. Title is from "Come Back... Be Here" by Taylor Swift.

“Number seventy-three on my list of favorite things about the Caribbean: the drinks are strong! Like, really strong!” Louis shouts, right before he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

Niall stands across from him, pulling a face as if the shot the bartender handed him was full of paint varnish instead of rum. Louis sips his pina colada and narrows his eyes at Niall judgmentally.

“Don’t give me that look, Tommo,” Niall says, flagging down the bartender again. “You know I have a personal rule against drinks that involve pineapples. Also umbrellas. Now stop being a cunt and do a shot with me!”

Louis makes grabby hands at the shot glass as the bartender slides two more over to them. He chooses to chase the shot of rum with more of his pina colada. Effective.

The bar at the hotel is pretty slow, or at least it seems so compared to some of the nights out in Sheff they’ve seen. Their cruise doesn’t leave until tomorrow, but they have the most hellish flight to drink away. From here on out, Louis thinks, it’s 8 days of alcohol, sun, and general debauchery. He might just wear his bathing suit the entire time, but the jury’s still out on that one. 

He sees a couple of other groups spread out across the small bar, but most of them seem a good couple decades older than him and Niall. There’s the group of older women sporting cuffed khakis and Tevas, holding martini glasses with something in them Louis can only assume is delicious. Among the group, though, is a young man, sporting neither khakis nor sandals. Louis watches as the guy grabs his drink off the bar top and clinks it with the womens’ glasses. 

A young woman brushes by Louis in an effort to get to the other boy. She hustles her way through the group of ladies and grabs the other boy by the shoulders, whispering something as she pushes him away. He salutes the women before he turns and walks towards what Louis can only assume is his group that he came with. They’re the only other ones within his age bracket in the hotel bar. They don’t seem much like a group that’d like the Caribbean, or much sun for that matter, but then again, it wasn’t like Niall seemed one for breaking pasty Irish stereotypes either. 

Just as he’s closing in on the last part of his drink, Louis feels someone bump up behind him. He turns to find the small blonde girl he had seen earlier. She holds a small dark drink in her right hand, and though she doesn’t seem too out of sorts, she is overly apologetic.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she mutters as she dabs at the non-existent spills on Louis’ shirt. Louis’ eyebrows go up-- he’s not sure how to react to this girl touching him, really.

Louis hears someone ‘tut-tut-tuting’ behind him, and when he turns to see who it is, he notices it’s the same boy from earlier, clutching his own pina colada and smiling.

“Get a hold of yourself, Pez,” the boy says, though it’s clear he’s teasing her. 

“Sorry,” the girl adds one more time, more to Louis than to the boy, before jetting off back to the rest of their table. The other boy stays behind, still grinning at Louis.

“Nice work with the Land’s End catalogue earlier,” Louis says, nodding his head toward the group of older women. 

“Thanks,” Cute Guy with a Pina Colada says. “The ladies love me.”

“I’m sure they’re not the only ones,” Louis replies, testing the waters a bit. 

He’s only human. Plus he’s on holiday. Plus he’s had just enough rum to not be worried about it. 

He lets his eyes quickly sweep up and down the boy’s body. He’s wearing navy blue shorts that fall above the knee, which tells Louis that he should be worried. He has a thing for knees. Louis also notices that the tank top the boy is wearing dips just low enough to show off his chest tattoos. Tattoo thing, Louis thinks to himself. Add it to the list, then.

“They’re not,” the boy responds, adjusting the headband that’s holding back his fringe. He flashes Louis a grin. “I’m Harry.”

“Louis,” he replies seamlessly, clinking his almost-empty glass with Harry’s full one. “Nice choice of drink,” he adds.

“When in Puerto Rico,” Harry says. He follows it up by taking a slow sip from his straw, maintaining eye contact as he does so.

Louis smirks. Harry’s making it pretty easy.

Louis hums in agreement, and finishes his off. They must look absurd, he realizes, drinking from their straws but hardly even blinking. Louis leans back and reaches behind him to put the empty glass back on the bar without breaking eye contact. Almost as if he were waiting for his cue, Niall pushes another one into his hands without saying anything, quickly walking past him and Harry, but tossing Louis a wink when he thinks he’s caught Louis’ eye. 

“You have a way with people, too,” Harry laughs, though he doesn’t even spare Niall a glance.

Louis shrugs, and takes a sip from his new drink. It’s even stronger this time around, which Louis appreciates. “Man slave,” he explains, seriously. “Also best mate privileges.”

Harry nods sagely. “Were you on the flight from London this morning, too?” he asks, leaning in a bit. Louis holds back his chuckle. It’s clearly a move-- it’s not nearly loud enough in this bar to have to lean in for conversations. Louis will take it, though. Harry’s fit and it’s not like the proximity bothers Louis. 

Louis shakes his head. He leans in a bit to respond. “Leeds, actually. Stupidest mistake of my life. We went through Amsterdam to New York and then here.” Harry’s eyes widen at that and Louis laughs. “Seriously the last time I listen to my mate convince me that it’ll be better to save the money with two connections. We almost missed the one in New York.”

“Shit,” Harry says, and then grins again. “I’m glad you didn’t, though.”

“Me too. Would have been a waste of a couple thousand pounds,” he laughs, before he adds, “and I wouldn’t have met this delicious concoction.” Louis winks for effect, and enjoys hearing Harry’s low chuckle. 

Louis finally decides to take a quick peek around to see what Niall got up to, when he notices him hanging with Harry’s group. 

“Looks like we rabble-rousers need to stick together,” Louis notes, gesturing over to where their friends are congregating. 

“Definitely,” Harry says, before grabbing at the hem of Louis’ shirt. “Come over and meet my mates, then.” Harry turns and practically drags Louis over to the group, though Louis doesn’t exactly put up a fight. Touching is a thing that they’re doing now, Louis supposes, since Harry grasps his shoulders and presents him to his group of friends.

“This is Louis,” he says. Louis smiles, but he’s more preoccupied with the cold of Harry’s glass pressed up against his right arm while Harry clamps down on his left shoulder. 

The group more or less waves at him, and it doesn’t escape Louis’ notice when the blonde girl who knocked into him earlier gives Harry a quick wink. Louis suddenly realizes that he and Harry may both be working with wingmen in this situation.

Harry’s apparently taken it upon himself to lay public claim on Louis, since even as Louis picks up a conversation with Harry’s mate Zayn, Harry’s hand remains on his shoulder. Zayn’s a teacher, he learns, on Easter hols, who spent the last few nights marking non-stop so he could have his vacation blissfully clear of anything to do with 15-year-olds. Louis nods sympathetically, but thinks back to his own aborted education degree and is slightly grateful. 

Harry’s hand stays on his shoulder even as he picks up a conversation with Niall, though Louis tries to focus on Zayn’s girlfriend’s story about her adventures busking as a child. 

“You want another, Hazza?” he hears Niall ask, and Louis chokes back a laugh considering how they’re on nickname basis now. Niall cranes his neck over to where Louis, Zayn, and Perrie are standing. “Pezza?” she nods, smiling. Niall looks over at Zayn. “...Za...zza?” he finishes, testing out the nickname.

“Don’t call me Zazza,” Zayn replies, completely stonefaced. Before he even finishes though, Perrie and Harry are howling with laughter. Harry clutches to Louis even more, gasping “Zazza” through bouts of giggles. Perrie wipes a bit under her eye, managing to avoid smudging her eyeliner. Niall smirks in apology and then slinks off to buy another round of shots. Zayn rolls his eyes, but even laughs a little after Perrie presses a quick peck to his cheek. 

Louis takes the moment to slide his arm around Harry’s waist and draw him closer. Harry catches his eye as he does so and smiles, allowing himself to be pulled into the circle. 

“I think the bartender hates me!” Niall shouts as he returns with a small tray of shot glasses. The four of them pull a glass off the tray each, and Niall turns to pass some more to the rest of Harry’s group. Murmurs of thanks and cheers pass around, and Louis finds himself glad that he’s chosen Niall as a travel buddy. Clearly nine-year-old Louis made a good life choice in befriending eight-year-old Niall. 

“Cheers!” sings Perrie, as she holds her glass up. The five of them clink in the middle of the circle. Harry slowly draws his back after, which Louis takes as an opportunity to give Harry a second, individual clink. Louis then tosses it back, letting the rum burn down his throat, settling in somewhere behind his lungs. 

“Ahhh,” Harry exhales, turning to Louis with a grin on his face. Louis contorts his into a silly grin, all cross eyes and sneered lip. Harry giggles in response. “I think it’s time for an adventure, don’t you?” he asks, flicking the tag on the back of Louis’ shirt.

Louis assumes he means time to go fumble around a bit in one of their rooms, but when they’re walking out with Niall and Perrie behind them, Louis assumes that’s not what he meant at all. 

They walk out the revolving doors of their hotel into the balmy evening San Juan air. They’re right across from the harbor, where Louis knows their cruise will depart from tomorrow. He’s hot from all the drinking, but the night isn’t doing much to help him feel cooler. He takes a shaky breath in and exhales slowly, letting the humidity infiltrate his lungs a bit. 

He knows he’s drunk, but he feels like he should have better coordination as they stumble up the narrow pavement. There are colors everywhere, houses and shops painted shades of green and pink that should be a crime anywhere else but here. Louis steadies a hand on the side of a building, and turns laughing to see Niall carrying Perrie on his back up the hill. Harry’s pressed up against him still, and he’s laughing, too. Louis’ not sure if they’re laughing over the same thing, but in that moment, he doesn’t really care.

They pass by souvenir shop after souvenir shop, lights off and doors aggressively locked. Most of the street is dark, but Louis can hear music and laughter up in the distance. 

“Why is everything closed?” Harry wonders aloud, while he shakes at the bars on a storefront.

“It’s Wednesday night,” Perrie points out, hopping off Niall’s back to pull Harry away. “Let’s not commit any major crimes before we get on the boat, babe.”

Perrie and Harry walk up ahead a little bit. Niall takes the chance to nudge at Louis’ arm and glance back and forth between him and Harry meaningfully.

“Eh? Eh?”

“Fuck off,” Louis whispers.

“Here I am, helping you out, being a good friend, and you’re gonna sexile me for the week, aren’t you?” Niall whispers back with an accusing tone.

“If I do, you’ll deserve it.”

“Not true!”

Their whisper spat is cut short when Perrie lets out a cheery whoop at the intersection. “Open pub!” she claps, and immediately takes off for it, running across the street without even looking first.

“Zayn’ll kill me if she dies,” Harry says morosely, more to himself than to Louis or Niall. 

They find Perrie talking to the bartender when they walk in the pub. Like the place in their hotel, it’s not particularly busy, but the people there do seem to be around their age. They hear a few people speaking Spanish, but for the most part, he hears a lot of American accents around him. 

The bartender doesn’t want to bust out the blender for their pina coladas, so he creates this darker looking drink for them that Louis eyes carefully. Harry swoops in to take a sip, even though he has his own identical cocktail being poured for him, and turns to Louis with a grin. They’re close, very close, and Louis can practically smell the alcohol on Harry’s breath when he says, “S’Rum.”

They ‘cheers’ again, this time with Perrie practically turning hers into an operatic solo and Harry practically gluing himself to Louis’ back. Louis throws it back and lets the mix of lemon and cranberry and the sharpness of the rum hit his taste buds. He knows he should slow down-- knows he should stop, really-- but he’s free and he’s on vacation and he’s got a fit bloke essentially trying to crawl up him. Life is good. 

They finish up quickly and pay off their tab, eager to move on up the hill. Louis’ feeling pretty flushed at this point, but can’t stop himself from reaching behind him and placing a hand on Harry’s back, pulling him closer. Harry hums in his ear before spinning out of his grasp and tugging him along out the door. The fairy lights strung around the front of the pub greet them as they exit and move out into the street.

“Onwards!” Harry shouts, pumping his fist into the air. Louis comes up behind him and playfully shoves him forward, laughing as Harry turns to try and pick him up. Louis likes these excuses to touch each other. He feels it all building, the tension, and he wonders which one of them will snap first. He knows that’s what the outcome will be though-- he’s well set to fuck, and he think Harry’s giving him all the right vibes, so all signs point to go. 

Of course, Harry’s coordination skills are off-- Louis has his doubts about what his coordination skills would be like sober even-- and Louis has to grab onto a car parked on the street for balance before Harry brings them both down onto the concrete. Niall grabs both of them by their shirt collars and tugs them up, laughing, and pushes them ahead up the hill. 

“It’s closed?” Perrie shouts, probably louder than necessary, when they reach the fort. 

“They can’t just close history,” Niall says, stubbornly. 

“Let’s break in,” Louis says simply. Louis doesn’t like signs that say ‘Stay Out’ or ‘Closed’ or ‘Do Not Enter’. He tends to ignore them, actually. 

Harry nods, clearly on board with the breaking and entering plan.

“I think I’d rather not get arrested and deported before I get a chance to work on me tan, thanks,” Perrie says, turning to kick at a rock near her feet. “Oh well.” 

She takes off again, this time running around the grass and darkness that surrounds the fort. She does a quick cartwheel, and bows when the boys cheer for her. Louis moves to do a handstand, but he’s shit at it even sober, so he essentially flips himself over without even thinking about it. Harry’s laughing hysterically at him. Louis takes off after him, trying to tug him down to the ground, catching up to him quickly since Harry apparently can’t run and laugh at the same time. 

Louis looks up to see Niall taking pictures on his iphone, the flash momentarily blinding him. The pictures will come out all blue and streaky, Louis knows, but Louis’ glad someone is documenting this, at least. If all he ever gets of Harry (and Perrie) is this one night, then at least the picture can be a souvenir he didn’t need a shop for. 

After several rounds of posed photos-- several of them being frowns at the ‘closed’ sign and one being a posed shot of Harry and Louis trying crawl up the door to the fort-- they decide to head back to the hotel pool. 

“Hot tub,” Harry suggests to Louis, to which Louis can only grin in response. Louis looks over as they walk back the path to the main street, and he feels kicked in the gut, a little bit. The red-orange glow lighting up the walls of the fort is creating a kind of halo around Harry’s head, seeping itself into strands of his hair. Louis wonders if it’s reflected in his eyes, whether Harry notices. Harry reaches out to him and tugs him in again, the same repeated action they’ve been doing all night, nestling him into his side. Harry keeps his arm around Louis’ shoulder, and Louis snakes his arm round Harry’s back as well, letting his hand settle on Harry’s hip. They walk back to the hotel this way, with Perrie and Niall chatting up ahead about Newcastle’s football team. Their conversation is civil, at least, so Louis isn’t too worried. 

When they get back to the hotel, they head up to the roof where the rest of Harry’s friends are already gathered around a case of Modella and a half-gone bottle of Bacardi. 

“Ace,” Harry says as they stumble through the doorway. “Just us, then.”

Perrie wastes no time heading over to Zayn, filling him in on their attempts to break into a historical monument. 

When Louis turns, he sees Harry stripping off his clothes and sliding into the hot tub. 

Harry crooks his finger and beckons toward him, and well, Louis isn’t stupid. He’d have to be an idiot to deny Harry this. 

He slips his shorts and his t-shirt off, kicking his trainers off to the side, before slipping himself slowly down into the water. The water sloshes up to his chest, making his skin go pink in its heat. The smell of the chlorine fills his brain and makes it hard to focus on Harry, who’s moving to grab at Louis’ hand and pull him further in. Louis smiles and allows himself to be pulled down, sinking until the tops of his shoulder are covered. 

“Hey, are you fuckers at least wearing pants in there?” 

The two of them turn to Zayn see him looking back at them expectantly. 

“Unfortunately,” Harry calls back, just as Louis moves to shout something similar.

Louis laughs into Harry’s shoulder instead, tasting the bleach from his skin.

Niall waddles over and places two plastic cups on the deck by the hot tub. Louis knows he’s probably at a good place to stop, but he allows himself one more. 

“You’re an absolute prize, mate,” Louis says to Niall, with the utmost amount of drunk sincerity.

“You’ve changed your tune,” Niall laughs, brushing off the compliment, before he rejoins the larger group, leaving Louis and Harry in their corner alone again.

Louis grabs one of the drinks and then taps Harry’s cheek, trying to get him to open his mouth. Harry raises an eyebrow, but does it anyway, letting Louis slowly pour the drink in his mouth. It’s dark, rum and Coke, Louis thinks. It’s proper sexy, for a moment at least, until Harry lets out a giggle and sprays the both of them, leaving a sticky trail on both their chins. Louis can’t help but laugh as well, and they’re pressed up against each other until Louis cups a small amount of water and splashes it against Harry’s face. 

Harry barks out another laugh, then flicks some back at Louis, who does his best from preventing the water from going into the cup. He places it back on the deck and turns back to Harry with a sneaky smirk.

“We’re breaking about thirteen different pool rules right now, I’m sure,” Louis says. Harry looks pleased about it, though.

“I’m sure,” he echoes, as he stares into Louis’ eyes. “Why stop now?”

Louis had been hoping that Harry’d be the one to break first, to make them move to turn the flirtatious touches into actual snogging and sex. But sitting there in the tub with Harry’s intense eyes bearing into him and his warm arm wrapped around Louis’ waist, fingers idly skimming the tops of his boxer briefs, Louis didn’t particularly care if he were the one to break. The sooner he pulls Harry, the better, really.

“Well put,” Louis says, and then leans up to do what he had been itching to do all night. 

Harry tastes like Coca-Cola, and citrus, with a little bit of coconut from his earlier pina coladas. He tastes like rum, smells like it, too, and when Louis licks the shell of Harry’s lips, he tastes chlorine from splashing in the tub. It’s complex, he thinks, these different senses. His head spins a little, but he moves with it, envisioning his brain go round and round in circles, a whole carousel, as he moves his tongue against Harry’s. 

He feels drops of water running down the sides of his face, where Harry has his hands placed. Each drop leaves a trail, cooling in the night air despite the overall humidity. 

“And there we go,” Louis hears someone distantly say, and he’s not sure if they’re talking about him and Harry, or something altogether different. Louis decides he doesn’t care, though, not when Harry’s running a wet hand through his hair, messing up his quiff, sending more droplets down the back of his neck. 

Harry turns them and backs Louis into the far wall, sitting on Louis’ thighs to prevent them from floating up. Louis slides a hand across Harry’s back under the water, pulling him closer still, and letting his hand still on the back of Harry’s thigh. 

“All night,” Harry whispers as he breaks away. “You’re so fit,” he says quietly, as if it were a secret he’s guarded for years as opposed to a general observation about a bloke he met a few hours ago. 

“Glad Perrie pretended to spill something on me to act as a wingman,” Louis whispers in response, before leaning into lick at the salty skin on Harry’s neck. 

“Figured that one out, did you?” Harry chuckles. “I’ve got to get a new game plan.”

“Definitely,” Louis says solemnly, before kissing Harry again, noses smashing up against each other with the force of it. 

Louis feels Harry drifting-- quite literally-- and tries to drag him closer. Snogging in a hot tub is harder than Louis thought and he’s only half worried that an ill-timed jet could have some embarrassing results. 

“My room?” Louis attempts to whisper into Harry’s ear. Harry nods enthusiastically, his hair shaking into Louis’ eyes.

Louis doesn’t look away from Harry, but he watches as Harry’s eyes scan across the rooftop for the towel rack. 

Harry hoists himself quickly out of the water, leaving Louis to look at the empty wall across from him. Louis turns to watch Harry hobble carefully across the stone to the towel rack. He can see the goose pimples rising on Harry’s skin, watching as Harry’s shoulders get closer to his ears as he reaches out for a white towel. He tosses it around his shoulders, grabs another and turns to look towards Louis. Harry looks surprised that Louis’ still in the hot tub.

Without any more delay, Louis sits back on the edge of the pool, swinging his legs around to help him stand up. He tip toes towards Harry, who grins and throws the towel at him as he approaches. Louis catches it with his face, quickly running it across his legs and chest before tying his around his waist. He quickly grabs the dry clothes he had previously stripped off and balls them up on his arms. They try to quietly make a break for the door. 

Louis expects Niall to make colorful, embarrassing remarks as he sees him sneak out. That’s what Louis would do if the roles were reversed, at least. Louis knows they’re not being particularly stealthy, but he doesn’t really mind. He just threads his hand in Harry’s and tries to drag him a little bit quicker across the rooftop, through the doors, and down the hall where he can finally have Harry all to himself.

As soon as the glass door to the pool area closes behind them, Louis hears the uproar of laughter from their friends. Louis thinks it was quite generous of them to even contain it until then. 

“I think I left my clothes back there,” Harry mutters as they race down the hallway in their soaked boxer briefs. Harry holds no consideration for going back, Louis assumes, since Harry tugs his hand a little harder, taking the lead down to the lift. 

Louis looks briefly behind them to see that their wet footprints are littered behind them as they move down the hallway, like prints in sand. Louis feels a bit obscene, a bit reckless, his towel-skirt loosening with every step. He’s taking strides too big, he knows, but Harry’s legs are long long long, and Louis just has to keep up. He feels the excitement in his chest growing.

Harry lets out a laugh against Louis’ mouth in the lift when Louis uses the towel to drag their bodies together. Louis’ cold, the over air-conditioned temperature of the hallway chilly compared to the warmth of the hot tub, so body heat is just one of the many benefits of getting close to Harry. 

Louis practically drags Harry out of the lift when it gets to his floor, particularly as Harry’s pruning hands start to drift towards the elastic waistband of Louis’ briefs. He sets his mind to digging his room key out of the pocket of the shorts he has balled up in his arms. Harry crowds up against Louis’ back as Louis repeatedly jams the key card into its slot until the light on the lock forgivingly blinks green. 

As soon as they’re in the door, the shorts and the card are thrown the the floor in favor of pushing Harry up against the wall and pressing his own body as close as possible. Harry leans down and kisses him, hands gripping at his shoulders, fingers spreading wide. 

Louis lets his hands drop down to tug at Harry’s still sopping boxer briefs. Harry pulls back to tug them down, leveraging his weight onto Louis as he shifts from leg to to leg. He kicks the briefs into the open loo, listening to the wet slap of them landing on the tile. 

Louis pushes his own down as well, hobbling to get them untangled from his ankles. He lets them lay there, seeping water into the carpet, as he tugs Harry back towards the beds. He pushes Harry back onto his, smiling as Harry lands and immediately gets engulfed by the oversized duvet. 

Louis dives down, covering Harry’s body with his. They let out a simultaneous groan at the drag of skin against skin, Harry’s voice dropping impossibly deeper. 

Grabbing fistfuls of Louis’ hair, Harry arches up, kissing Louis with as much passion as he can muster. Louis still feels drunk, still feels his head floating up and away, and loses himself in the sensations. Louis opens his eyes to see Harry’s still shut, eyelashes dusting down and spread out. 

“Hold that thought,” Louis whispers as he pulls away. Harry’s eyes flutter open, blinking questioningly as Louis crawls off the bed and turns to where his duffle bag is shoved in the corner. He rifles through and turns to throw the travel-sized bottle of lube towards the bed, where Harry grins and catches it one-handed.

Louis grabs a handful of condoms out of the box in his bag, and quickly crawls back to Harry, throwing the condoms next to them. Louis licks at Harry’s collarbone, feeling the way Harry’s chest rumbles as he groans. Louis moves further down, sucking small lovebites across Harry’s chest plate. Harry’s arms wrap around Louis’ back, tugging their bodies back into realignment. 

Louis keeps his kiss with Harry going, blindly reaching out to find one of the condoms he had just dropped there prior. He sits back on his heels and tries to use both hands to open the wrapper quickly. Harry clearly isn’t a fan of the distraction, though, reaching out to grab at Louis’ dick.

“Shit,” Louis groans, hands stilled on the wrapper. “Can’t focus with that.”

Harry lolls his head to the side, giving Louis a smirk.

Louis opens the package, rolling the condom down onto Harry’s dick in one quick movement, and promptly going down on him.

“Oh,” is what Harry says, and Louis tries to hold back the giggle. Louis likes catching people off guard, and when Louis looks up at Harry, the smirk has lost its edge, turning to something more of an aroused grin.

Louis eases down a little bit more, relaxing his throat, trying to keep his jaw open. Harry’s dick sits heavy on his tongue, tasting like the latex of the condom and that strange artificial strawberry flavor. Louis pulls off a little, the fist he holds at the base giving a quick twist, causing Harry’s stomach to cave in a little. Louis presses his tongue against Harry’s dick, licking hard, trying to get Harry to feel it as much as possible through the condom. 

Harry groans again, his fingertips digging into Louis’ shoulderblades. Louis takes Harry in his mouth again, pulls off quickly, and repeats the action while twisting his wrist. Harry’s humming with pleasure somewhere up by the pillow. Louis’ too focused on his technique to look up. 

Louis lets his hand ghost back and lightly fondly Harry’s balls. He doesn’t respond too much to that one, though, so he lets his hand wander even further, sliding it under to press a fingertip up against Harry’s arsehole. 

“Yeah,” Harry mindlessly murmurs above him. Louis grabs the mini bottle of lube beside them, and quickly slicks up two fingers, trying to use his thumb to warm it up. He reaches back down, tracing the edge of Harry’s hole before slowly sliding one finger in. 

He sucks a lovebite around one of Harry’s extra nubs while working his pointer finger in and out.

“More,” Harry whispers gravelly, and Louis slowly pushes the second one in as well. “Yeah, yeah,” Harry continues, and Louis shimmies back down to nudge Harry’s cock back into his mouth. 

The thing about drunk hookups Louis hates is just how long it can take sometimes. Louis’ jaw burns a little bit, even with the break he took to finger Harry open, but he likes giving head too much to stop. Louis takes him down again, pushing further in with his fingers, listening to Harry’s response.

Louis curls his fingers forward, pushing deeper.

“Shit, Louis,” Harry moans, causing Louis to moan in response too. His moans vibrate across Harry’s dick, causing him to tense up and come into the condom. Louis feels it fill in his mouth, keeping his grip on the base so to keep in on.

Feeling satisfied that Harry’s come, Louis pulls off and lets himself listen to Harry catching his breath. It’s the only sound in the room, other than the low hum of the air conditioner and the rustling of the duvet as Louis sits up. Louis pulls the condom off, ties it up, and moves to throw it into the small bin near the bed.

“Get me back in the morning,” Louis murmurs, voice raspy, as he flops next to where Harry’s still lying there, blinking slowly at the ceiling. Louis’ mostly soft at this point, and he’s tired and jetlagged as all hell. His eyelids feel heavy, and he remembers that it’s basically morning in England. He wonders how he and Harry are still awake at all.

“Definitely,” Harry says, turning into Louis. He kisses Louis one more time, deep and thankful, before dipping down and settling his head onto Louis’ chest. “Strawberry, huh?”

Louis chuckles, and then lets his eyes drift closed.

***

“Fuck you, Louis, I’m sick of sleeping in the hallway,” Niall says as he storms into the room. 

He faceplants onto his own double bed without acknowledging the fact that Harry is still in Louis’ bed and they are in what is an obviously compromising position. Louis glances at the clock on the bedside table-- the red digits glaring out the 5:20 hour. 

Louis feels like shit, if he’s being honest. It’s still dark outside, and Louis’ only been asleep for a few hours, but his body still thinks it’s in England. Combine that with the hangover he feels settling in and the aches in his legs that he has no idea what to attribute to, he’s not feeling particularly fresh.

The bed shifts next to him, and Louis turns to see Harry blinking sleepily. Harry’s hand comes up to rub at his eyes, and Louis takes note of a couple more tattoos near his wrist that he hadn’t noticed the night before. 

“What time is it?” Harry whispers.

“Almost five thirty,” Louis sighs. His voice has recovered, but it’s still a little syrupy from waking up.

Harry makes some kind of indistinguishable noise and drops his head back into the pillows. 

“Still got a couple hours, at least,” Louis reasons out loud, reaching to rub circles into Harry’s naked back. Louis’ glad he’s still here. Even though his head feels like someone is steadily stepping on it, he’s happy to have this image of Harry to keep. Last night was wonderful and fun and everything, but it went a bit fuzzy around the edges at times. Louis’ pleased that Harry is just as gorgeous in the morning as he looked after a truly absurd amount of rum last night. His hair is a bit mussed up, sticking out in different directions, but it had looked that way last night, too. 

Harry turns his head toward Louis and smiles at him, looking far more innocent than he has any right to. His eyes are still mostly closed, but Louis feels his gaze, and briefly wonders if he’ll get another chance to hook up with Harry, or if they’ll have to awkwardly avoid each other for the next week on deck. 

There are sleep marks on Harry’s cheek, and Louis finds himself utterly charmed. How exactly had he pulled this boy last night? Current Louis gives his drunk past Louis a pat on the metaphorical back.

“At least the sea air is good to cure a hangover,” Louis whispers lightly into Harry’s ear. He pulls back a little bit. “I could be completely lying about that, actually.”

Harry chuckles and scoots in closer to Louis, hooking a leg around his ankle, mingling their cold feet together. 

“I think I’m gonna sleep all the way to Barbados,” Harry murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut again.

Louis blinks, and then mentally runs through their itinerary for the next few days. St. Thomas, Aruba, St. Lucia, Antigua, then back to San Juan. 

“Um, Barbados?” Louis asks.

“Mmmm,” Harry hums as he cuddles up to Louis more. “We should definitely try to find Rihanna while we’re there.”

“I’m almost positive Rihanna is in Los Angeles,” Louis says. “Also: Barbados?”

Harry opens his right eye to look at Louis. “Yes, Barbados.”

Louis feels ill, a little bit. Proper non-hangover ill. He’s not sure why. He doesn’t know Harry, not really. They had some fun together, and sure, maybe he expected to spend the next week practically tied to him before a tearful goodbye and some sappy poetry about their sex, and possibly some kind of crazy spontaneous matching tattoo that Louis would have to explain away when he was older with grandchildren, maybe. 

“Oh,” Louis says, brushing a lock of Harry’s hair back. “I’m going to Antigua.” He tries to make his voice sound light, like there were no expectations. There weren’t supposed to be expectations with one-night stands. Or even the seven-night stand that Louis had built up in his mind. 

“What?” Harry says, lifting his head. Louis is someone pleased to hear that Harry’s not happy about this turn in events. Obviously, Harry thought Louis was fit enough to sleep with, so Louis shouldn’t be surprised that Harry might enjoy his company. “Really?”

“Really,” Louis confirms. “St. Thomas, Aruba, St. Lucia, and Antigua.”

Harry pouts, which Louis thinks is terrible, because it is far more endearing than a grown adult pouting at five in the morning while he has a hangover has any right to be.

“Barbados, St. Kitt, and St. Maarten,” Harry says. 

“Damn Caribbean,” Louis says with mock anger.

Harry laughs, but it doesn’t seem as bright. “Mate, that sucks. That ruins all my plans of shagging your brains out all week.”

Louis feels himself blush. 

“Yes, well,” he starts. “You and me both.”

They fall silent after that, unsure of what to say. Louis didn’t actually want this to be a one-night stand, but it didn’t really seem like there was much else to say or do. They’d both be off to their individual vacations, having their night of binge drinking and storming historical landmarks fade into just another travel story among the others. 

“If I gave you my mobile number, would you ring it?” Harry asks.

“Pretty sure I don’t have service here, Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes, lightly pushing Louis’ shoulder.

“I mean, back in England. Would you call back in England?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Louis says, because that’s the only response he could give here. He couldn’t exactly say no, even though he knew there was next to no chance of him visiting London. He last went to London two years ago and tried to avoid it, generally. Sheffield tended to be enough for him. Any bigger and he feels overwhelmed. London and Sheff were just too far apart, anyway. 

Louis spares a look to see if Niall is still awake. He’s not. His mouth dropped open, the sound of his quiet snoring acts as background noise in the room. Louis slips out of bed still naked, and tip toes across the room until he gets to the shorts he had discarded in his quest to get into Harry’s pants the night before. He digs the iphone out of his pocket, turning it on and waiting as it starts. He then hands it over to Harry.

When Harry hands it back to him, Louis realizes Harry has a last name. Styles.

“Harry Styles,” Louis says quietly, subconsciously straightening the duvet out.

“S’me,” Harry says. 

“I’d call you now so you had mine, but, y’know, no service.” Louis smiles crookedly.

“Call when you land, then. We’ll exchange travel stories. I’ll tell you about the fit guy I pulled on my first night here.”

“Ace.”

Harry smiles, and then moves to sit up, albeit slowly.

“Ugh,” Harry groans. “I should go find my room-- maybe regurgitate all that alcohol from last night while I’m at it. Why did we drink so much?” Harry presses a hand to his own forehead.

“Don’t say the ‘a’ word, please,” Louis mumbles, crawling back into his bed.

Harry pats him on the head kindly-- Louis spares a brief thought to his already bed-frazzled hair.

“Call,” Harry says again, before pressing a quick kiss to Louis’ temple. Louis watches as he slides out from under the covers and pads over to the toilet, looking to where he kicked his underwear the night before. The view isn’t bad.

“Found ‘em,” Harry mumbles, mostly to himself, as he pulls the briefs back on. They’re still damp judging by the uncomfortable look on Harry’s face, and the way he grabs a towel to wrap around his waist. He looks back quickly, and gives an awkward wave before opening the door, slipping out, and letting it shut behind him with a loud click.

Well. That’s that, then. He’ll never get a chance to go down on Harry Styles again. And he never got his orgasm from the night before.

Louis attempts to suffocate himself with the oversized hotel pillow, praying that it will bring him at least two more hours of sleep. 

***

“I’m going to eat my weight in prawns,” Niall says, hurling his duffle bag to the foot of his narrow bunk. “How long until the buffet opens?”

“A good couple hours, mate,” Louis reasons. He fiddles with the label on his water bottle, tearing it up into smaller pieces.

They wander up to the deck to watch the boat pull away from the dock. As it turns out, there were three different cruises departing a couple hours apart, all heading to a different hodgepodge of islands. Louis hadn’t seen Harry after this morning, and he hadn’t seen any of the others from last night, but he felt a strange sense of unsettledness in his chest. 

He’s still hungover, hours later, as the boat pulls out of the harbor. The incessant horn blowing in warning isn’t doing anything to help this hangover, of course, and Louis takes a delicate sip of water to keep down the nausea. 

“So, are we not going to talk about last night?”

“Nope,” Louis says shortly. 

“It was fun,” Niall sing-songs.

“It was,” Louis agrees, taking another small sip.

“Then why are you acting like... this?” Niall finished, gesturing up and down at Louis’ defensive position.

Louis rolls his eyes from behind his aviators. 

“I’m not.”

“You are, mate. We’re in paradise. Cheer the fuck up,” he says. 

Niall’s a good friend because he has no problems telling Louis when he’s being overdramatic. Louis normally values this. Right now, it’s not too welcome. 

As the San Juan skyline slowly becomes smaller and smaller, Louis tries to let himself go back into holiday mode. He knows he needs to just move on from his one-night stand. It was fun, a good story, and a great memory. Sure, he might still feel unsettled, but that could be because he didn’t actually orgasm. That could definitely, probably, be the reason.

He takes his aviators off, and tucks it into his shirt collar. He turns to look at Niall.

“What do you say? Hair of the dog?”

Niall groans a little, but nods.

“Seems like that’s the only answer. Don’t know what we’d be doing here if it weren’t for binge drinking anyway.”

Louis slaps Niall roughly on the back. “That’s how it’s done,” he praises as he leads them back towards a bar area. “Don’t worry. I will definitely find you a bird this week. I will find you, like, three birds this week. I will be the best wingman to make up for the fact that you slept in the hallway last night.”

“A fact I so graciously let slide,” Niall admits, as they turn away from the railing and walk towards the indoor bar.

***

Louis sits up from where he’s reclining on the white chair to peer over at the drink Niall is offering him. It’s pink and frozen. At least there’s an umbrella in it.

“Cheers,” he says, taking it, leaving Niall to wipe his own hand on his swimming shorts. 

Niall takes a sip from his own similarly frozen drink. Before Louis can even give him shit over it, Niall shoots him a look and slides into the chair next to him. 

Niall closes his eyes and tilts his head back, letting the sun shine down on his milky white skin. Louis turns back to a group of older women across the deck from them. They’re all giving him polite, sympathetic smiles, almost as if...

Oh, hell no, Louis thinks.

“Niall, I think people think we’re a couple,” Louis whispers out of the side of his mouth. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Niall replies without opening his eyes.

“Nope. I’m getting the sympathetic head nod from the cougars at 3 o’clock.”

“I don’t really care, mate.”

“I care,” Louis whispers heatedly.

This makes Niall crack an eye open.

“You could do worse than me,” he pouts.

Louis turns away, but doesn’t offer a rebuttal. He has done worse, to be fair. There was John those first few weeks of uni. He dove right into a relationship, fast and hard, and then after he got bored, he realized he was with a needy writer who had something of an overbite.

“I want you to know that I’m planning on draping myself all over you for the remainder of this cruise,” Niall says, taking another sip from his drink. “Partly to annoy you. Also, I think it’ll attract the ladies.”

Louis fully sits up in chair. “I may not be an expert, but I also don’t think they like being referred to as ‘the ladies’. Also, you suck. Also, this is not what I had in mind when I signed up for the best friend position years ago.”

“You and me both,” Niall says. “Cheer up, babes. I’ll treat you right.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you.”

“I’m going in the pool,” Louis says, before he can break into a smile. 

“Oh, not the hot tub?” Niall asks, the smirk blossoming across his face. 

“Shut up,” he responds before padding over to the edge of the pool. He dips his toe in. Not bad.

“I love you, Louis Tomlinson!” shouts Niall. He sees several heads in the pool turn in their direction. Louis curses whatever form of fate brought him his best friend.

Louis flips him a V over his shoulder before launching himself at the water, hearing the splash before the cold water registers.

***

In St. Thomas, they decide to go snorkeling. They unboard the ship having only consumed two mimosas with breakfast. Niall has a hard time getting his mask to fit right. Every time he sinks down into the water, his goggles fill up, leaving him to squeeze his eyes shut anyway. He eventually fixes them to work, and they float about in the water for a bit, looking at all the different kinds of fish swimming about. It’s one of the coolest things Louis’ seen in a while, and while he originally balks when a moray eel comes freakishly close to his knee, he relaxes and enjoys the moment. It’s maybe the first time in the trip that he’s mostly sober and at peace. He’s not thinking about work or home-- or his one night stand the other night-- he’s merely focusing on the vastness of the water around him.

“I think that’s fucking coral,” Niall says when they pop up for a minute. They’re both wading on this surface, and Louis, while accepting the presence of the eels, does not want them touching him. Unless he’s eating them with rice and wasabi later.

“So cool,” Louis agrees, before fixing his mask and tilting his face back down. He lets his body just rest and float along, watching the dorsal fins of the fishes around him wave back and forth.

Eventually he trudges back up the beach towards where he and Niall left their backpack. They had been taking turns carrying it, since they didn’t have enough stuff to justify two, and Louis, no matter how hard Niall insists that they’re cool again, refuses to wear a bum bag. 

“Oi,” Niall calls out from behind him. “Take a picture of me!”

“Camera whore,” Louis laughs, but digs his iPhone out all the same. 

He aims his phone toward the ocean, the sun high enough that it’s not interfering too much with the picture. He touches the screen to capture the moment, and instantly can’t wait to show the rest of the friends when they get back to Sheffield. Niall is standing there, ankles deep in light blue water, thumbs up, posing. Despite the fact that his snorkel and mask are firmly back in place, Louis can see the stupid grin on his face that makes it all the more perfect.

“You’re a prat,” Louis says, but he clearly doesn’t mean it. He wonders if Niall is just immune to his ass-backwards way of showing affection at this point. He should probably make more of an effort in the future to fix this, to actually say what he means. But this holiday is not that time. Something for future Louis to think about.

Before Louis can stop himself, he swipes his finger to the right on his touchscreen and watches as the goofy photo of Niall switches over to a photo from the night in San Juan. Something in Louis’ stomach twists hotly looking at the group of them debauched and attempting to break into a national landmark. The orange lights of the fort reflect in their hair, making Perrie’s hair look like some strange Easter decoration. Even though their eyes are flashed out, Niall’s doubled over clutching his stomach laughing at something. Perrie’s pressed flat up against the sign, posing like some kind of old pin-up model. And Harry, well, looks better than Louis had been remembering. Harry’s hair is still shoved behind a headband with a few tendrils escaping, a drunk flush making his cheeks rosy, and a wry grin aimed right at the screen. The photo is a little blurry, sure, but overall it makes him look good. Louis, for a moment, almost wishes he hadn’t taken the photo at all.

***

Somewhere on their way to Aruba, Louis lives up to his promise and helps Niall pull.

Not that Niall actually needs any help in the pulling department. Niall has a particular penchant for American and Australian girls, who tend to swoon when hearing his Irish lilt. Combining that with his easygoing smile, Niall tends to be very good with women. 

They’re swimming in the pool as the sun beats down on them. Louis contemplates taking his sunglasses off for a little bit to prevent a horrendous raccoon eyes tan. He’d never live it down if he went back to England with that situation.

Louis sees a couple of young women looking over at them. They’re leaning close and whispering, eyes glancing over at him and Niall every couple of seconds, which tells Louis that they’re either interested or think they’re together.

“We’re not together,” Louis says to them, before they even introduce themselves. He likes to get those kind of things out of the way. “In case you were wondering.”

The girls look young, maybe still in university or just out, and they seem shocked that he’s talking to them. Niall just rolls his eyes, but smiles warmly at the two girls, and Louis can see them instantly warming up to Niall.

“I’m not homophobic,” Louis starts, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”

One of the girls makes a small squeak.

“I’m gay. He’s my single straight single friend,” he says, nodding his head over at a slightly exasperated Niall. It’s a testament to their friendship that he doesn’t add one more ‘single’ to prove his point.

“Subtle,” laughs the other girl. She flips her damp hair over her shoulder and Louis watches it fan out under the surface. “Alex,” she says as she swims over closer to Louis and Niall. “This is Nicole.”

Nicole swims up behind her and smiles at the two of them. 

It isn’t long before Niall is crowded up close to Alex while Louis and Nicole try and make idle chit chat. Louis’ another daiquiri in at this point, the roof of his mouth starting to feel a bit like it’s made out of pulverized ice. 

Louis turns to see Niall slinging an arm around Alex and pulling her in close. Louis knows this look well. It’s when Niall is trying to flirt, but is a little bit passed tipsy and is not subtle in his attempts. Louis should take mercy on him, but he won’t.

“Eh, Niall, shouldn’t you be taking this to the hot tub?” Louis ribs.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

The two girls look at each other in confusion.

“Damn right I do,” Louis laughs. “Sorry,” he says to Nicole.

“What’s with the hot tub joke?” she whispers to him, her eyes still trained on Niall and Alex’s flirting.

“Oh, it’s about a guy,” Louis says.

“A guy?”

“Oh y’know, some guy I pulled earlier this week,” Louis says, with every intention of sounded unaffected. “I mean, now I can’t stop thinking about our future house in Marseille with our tabby cat and our 2 adopted children, so.”

“Wait, you and Niall are going to have a house in Marseille?” Nicole asks, eyes wide.

“No, me and Harry.”

“Who’s Harry?”

“The guy from the hot tub,” he explains. “Keep up, Nicole. Although, I mean, thinking about it, Harry and I don’t need the tabby cat. He can choose what kind of cat we get. Also, I’d settle for one child, but definitely no more than three.”

“Does Harry know about these plans of yours?” Nicole asks.

“Um, no,” he says. “Harry doesn’t even know what my dick tastes like.” He definitely says that too loud, judging by the looks that some of the older cruise-mates look at him. He should probably invest in a brain-to-mouth filter at some point. 

Nicole throws back her head and laughs, splashing a little water at Louis as she does so. Louis likes her. If Niall weren’t already trying to pull Alex, he’d try and encourage him toward Nicole.

“Did you notice,” she starts, before dropping into a small series of giggles, “that our friends have completely up and left?”

“What?” Louis gasps, swimming fruitlessly in circles. Niall and Alex are nowhere to be seen. “They must have snuck away, those bastards!”

“Maybe they’re in the hot tub after all,” Nicole suggests, her eyebrows waggling, voice lewd. 

“I hope Niall at least has the decency to treat your friend to a bed,” Louis says. “Or else I haven’t trained him well.”

“We’re good mates, aren’t we?” Nicole says, swimming to the edge of the pool where they had left their drinks.

“The best,” Louis agrees. “Excellent wingmen. Women. Wingpeople.”

“Cheers,” Nicole says, as she hands off the half-empty drinks that had been abandoned by their lust-addled friends off to Louis. Both double-fisting, they go to clink their plastic cups.

“Indeed,” Louis agrees. He’ll worry about the house in France later.

***

“I thought this was a fucking holiday, mate,” Louis huffs as he wipes the sweat off his forehead for about the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. 

“I hate myself right now,” Niall wheezes. “Why did we think this was a good idea?”

“Tomas,” Louis mutters. Tomas is their cruise entertainment coordinator. He made an announcement how climbing the pitons was the thing to do in St. Lucia. Louis admits he has a problem where if something is ‘the thing to do’, he needs to try it. It’s how he gets himself into rather strange situations... like that time he got his arsehole bleached. He needs to start learning his lesson, really.

Louis blames Tomas, though. 

Louis just wants to get back down to the boat where he can drink a frozen pina colada in a lounge chair. Right now, however, he’s stuck trudging up a trail in quite possible the worst pair of trainers for a hike. He’s running low on water, and quite frankly, he is out of shape. It is possible that he had been lied to in the past when others told him sex counted as exercise. 

In front of him, a granny steps over a particularly snarled group of roots without any problem. The same roots send Niall tripping and reaching out to grab stabilization from Louis and a nearby tree.

“Fuck this,” Niall says, and it’s a testament to how miserable they are, since Louis almost never hears Niall seriously complain about anything. They give each other shit all the time, but Niall always lets things roll right off him. 

“Thank jesus Liam didn’t come with us on this trip,” Louis says, pausing to lean up against the side of the tree Niall is braced against. The rest of their tour group ambles ahead. “Can you imagine how insufferable he’d be about this hike?”

Niall laughs deeply. He straightens, and then in his best midlands accent, imitates Liam’s enthusiastic hiking, “C’mon, lads! This isn’t so bad! I might go for a swim later, maybe wrestle some crocodiles!”

“Almost near the summit!” Louis hears the tour guide shout to the group. 

“Thank fuck,” he mutters, as he pushes himself off the trunk and moves to catch up to the rest of the group.

“We deserve pints after this,” Niall reasons. “Lots of ‘em.”

“To be fair, not deserving drinks hasn’t stopped us from having loads of them so far. Or ever,” he adds. 

As they get closer to the top, they see the granny smiling down at them.

“Good job, boys,” she says in her syrupy sweet American accent. “You’re doing well!”

“Thanks,” says Niall cheerily, but Louis just wonders how he got to the point in his life where grannies were the ones encouraging him to muster strength, instead of the other way around.

“Welcome to the peak of Gros Pitons,” the tour guide, Sherephia, announces, throwing her arms wide. 

“Gross, indeed,” Niall says under his breath.

“Your pitons are gross,” Louis says, poking Niall in the ribcage. To his credit, he had been sitting on that joke for a couple of hours. 

As Louis drags himself over the last few steps up, he is greeted with, in all fairness, one of the most beautiful views he’s ever seen. 

“What,” he deadpans. Everything is green and blue, green and blue.

Peering out, he sees the tops of the trees far out around the island, speckling shades of green and wavering slowly in the sea breeze, making everything seem alive. He feels the sun beating down on him, the stretch of his skin telling him he’s probably burning. He feels exhausted, but for the most part, good.

“Damn,” Niall agrees, sitting down on a rock nearby. Louis walks over and joins him. They stare out at the view quietly, for a few minutes, before Louis gets the urge to take his phone out of his pocket and snap a few pictures.

“You’ve had that thing out a lot,” Niall says, as the other hikers in their group circulate the peak, snapping photos on digital cameras. “I hope for your sake you remembered to turn your data off.”

“Of course I did. Can’t fault a guy for wanting to preserve some memories with his best mate,” Louis says lightly. Louis should’ve known that Niall knows him too well to let that comment slide.

“Yeah, okay, I think it’s time for some tough love,” Niall says. Louis groans and leans back on the rock, slinging his arm over his eyes.

“No.”

“Yes,” Niall counters. “You know I love you, mate, but when I saw Alex and her friend this morning while I was waiting for you, her friend mentioned that you went on and on about your future cats with the bloke from the first night.”

“How could Nicole betray me like that?” Louis says. “We had a connection.”

“I know you,” Niall barrels on. “And I know this story in your head is not just cats. So what else? Tell me about your future with Harry, then.”

“No,” Louis huffs. He knows he’s getting petulant. “There may also have been a villa and some children.”

“France or Belgium?”

“France,” Louis sighs.

“I just,” Niall starts. “I know you get like this. You meet someone and before you can stop it, you craft this whole future with him, down to like, wallpaper schemes. Then, when it inevitably doesn’t happen, you bitch and moan that love doesn’t exist and you’re going to die alone, and just. You won’t.”

“You don’t know that, mate,” Louis says.

“Oh, come off it. You won’t.”

“You don’t understand. Statistically, I have a much lower chance of finding someone compatible. So yes, every time I meet a guy I can see myself with, I think ‘is this my chance?’”

“Louis,” Niall sighs. “All I’m trying to say is that I wish you would live in the moment a little bit more. You’re focused on finding ‘your chance’ that instead of just accepting things as they are, you are always pushing for more. Like, Harry could be just a great memory of one night, that’s all. A fun holiday story. Don’t try to make it into an epic romance.”

“I don’t try,” he argues. “It just happens. I’m an epic person, so naturally, my romances are also epic.”

“Alright,” Niall sighs. “I can tell you don’t want to hear any more. But just, live in the moment, mate.”

“I just climbed a mountain, mate. I’m pretty in the moment,” he laughs, as he shoves Niall off the rock.

***

“Is it me, or are all of these islands looking the same?” Louis asks as they unboard the ship. They set off toward the nearest beach, which Tomas swears is a relaxing and low-key beach. Louis still hasn’t completely forgiven Tomas after the hiking incident. Tomas’ easy hike had cost Louis almost a kilo in sweat, practically.

“Are you complaining? We’re in paradise,” Niall laughs. He navigates the two of them to where the crowd off the boat is heading.

Once they set up their towels and they both apply their sunscreen, Niall turns to him. This instantly worries Louis, since Niall normally doesn’t get that serious about stuff. Niall has something to say, apparently.

“Out with it, then,” Louis sighs.

“Alright. Well, I wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I’ve been thinking about it, and I was maybe being rude.”

“You weren’t being rude, Niall,” Louis says slowly.

“No, but I was out of line, I think,” he says. “I think I wasn’t really listening to what you were saying. Like, in my mind, there’s no way you’re going to die alone because you’re funny and smart in the right way and, like, I presume guys find you attractive,” he adds, his voice drifting up as if he’s asking if guys find him attractive. Louis rolls his eyes.

He opens his mouth to make a joke, but Niall cuts him off.

“No, wait. What I meant to say was that I get why you do that thing, where you look to the future so much. I was bullshitting when I said you don’t live in the moment. You’re one of the most spontaneous guys I know.”

“This is why we leave the serious talks to Liam,” Louis says, smirking.

“Shut up, I’m trying. What I’m saying is that if you don’t look to the future at all, you’re not giving yourself a chance. If you only thought about each night as its own thing, then you’re not giving any of these things a chance to become something. Also, I had something I wanted to say about bookends and stories, but I lost it. Fuck.”

“You tried, and that’s what’s important,” Louis mocked, patting Niall’s sunburnt arm sympathetically.

“So, please tell me you’re going to at least talk to the guy when we get back to England.”

Louis hummed and averted his eyes.

“Probably not,” he says slowly. “You’re right though. I do set myself up for when my fantasies inevitably don’t play out. And the fact is that he lives in London, so having a semi-functional relationship with him isn’t really feasible. So the house in Marseille won’t happen. At least with him,” he adds.

“Are you joking,” Niall says flatly. “So we’ve spent a large majority of our trip thinking and talking about this guy, and you’re just not going to even try?”

Louis pushes his Ray Bans over his eyes. “I’m getting some mixed messages from you.”

“Fuck, I do not get paid enough to be your friend,” Niall says, rolling over to lay on his stomach. 

Louis flips him a v, but Niall isn’t looking.

“Just call, Louis. Or text. Or carrier pigeon, I don’t know. Just try. Because there sure as hell won’t be a house in France if you don’t try.”

“Yes, well. Whatever,” Louis says stubbornly. It’s not the best comeback he’s ever had.

***

Niall doesn’t mention Harry again, but Louis still can’t let it go. Even the smell of chlorine in the pool can lead to a mental flashback of the smell of bleach on Harry’s skin and the feeling of their legs tangling together. 

Louis can admit that he may be out of his depth a little bit. He feels really mixed up about Harry, and knows that Niall has some good points. He has been letting himself live in a fantasy world for too long, choosing to use these over-the-top premonitions as a reason to hate romance. But at the same time, he doesn’t actually go after these desires, doesn’t try to make it happen. Maybe it’s not all fate, he thinks. Maybe he needs to make it happen. 

If he looks at the photos on his iphone a few more times, well, not even Niall needs to know about it.

“Buenos dias, San Juan!” Niall shouts over the rails as their ship docks. They’ve downed a couple mimosas at breakfast, trying to eke every last drop of alcohol out of their ‘all-inclusive’ package. Niall’s pretty tipsy, Louis’ not far behind. Louis definitely thinks he will need to do some kind of detox upon arriving back in Sheffield. 

That’s not today’s problem, though.

“It’s been a good trip,” Louis sighs. “Very relaxing.”

Niall sideeyes him.

“Relaxing,” he says slowly. “Like that hike we went on where we almost passed out from dehydration?”

“Yes,” Louis nods. “And like the time you almost drowned in your own snorkeling swim mask.”

Niall laughs, deep and comforting. Louis is glad he has a travel buddy in Niall.

“Let’s get our shite, mate, and get off this boat for good. I know our flight’s late tonight, but I’m already craving a full English.”

“Ugh,” Louis groans. “Basically all we’ve done is eat.”

“And drink,” Niall adds.

“And drink. So much drinking.”

“I fail to see the problem,” Niall says. He spins away from the railing and sets back toward their cabin. Louis can’t wait to get back to his bed, in his flat, without Niall. Niall has a flatulence problem in his sleep. Well, when he’s awake too, but it’s pretty bad when he sleeps. 

“I won’t miss this room,” Louis says, peeking under his bunk and behind pillows to make sure he doesn’t forget anything.

“I’m deeply hurt,” Niall responds, sounding like he couldn’t care any less.

***

Louis is thankfully, mercifully, back in his flat.

He had had another full day of flights and transfers, but at least this time, they hadn’t gone running through terminals with their duffle bags weighing them down. Liam, the flawless bloke that he is, had picked the two of them up at the airport, with a handwritten sign that had ‘Huey and Kyle’ scratched across it in thin black pen. 

Now, though, now there is some peace and quiet. Louis is starfished across his bed, face first, taking shallow breaths. There are many things he wants to do right now. He wants to sleep, first and foremost, but he also wants to shower, and text Harry, and unpack his clothes before he has to go back to his normal life. He knows if he doesn’t unpack now then two weeks from now he will notice that his shit is still folded up and smelling like sunscreen.

Shower first, then sleep, he decides.

He washes the staleness of the airplane off in the shower. Even just smelling his brand of soap makes him feel home, compared to the sterile lemongrass scent that followed him in the hotel and on the boat. 

Toweling himself off, he listens to the sounds of Sheffield, realizing just how quickly he left paradise. He hears the cars honking outside, and the couple in the flat next door arguing. He hears the group of kids that live in the complex out front saying words that he definitely didn’t know the meanings of when he was eleven. 

He feels good, though. Like this trip helped him figure some things out about his life. 

He sits, nude and still damp, on his bed, and unlocks his phone. He’s going to text Harry. At least this way, he won’t have to live for the next couple years wondering ‘what if’. He is in his mid-twenties now. He should be getting his shit together, or so he hears.

_“Hi, Harry. This is Louis from Puerto Rico! I’m back in England! How was the rest of your holiday??”_

He taps send before he can chicken out, and flips the phone over so he doesn’t have to watch it deliver. He doesn’t even remember how long Harry’s holiday was-- did Harry even tell him? Is Harry off shagging some guy under the Caribbean sun as Louis readjusts back in grey, wet England?

Louis hopes not. 

Louis contemplates plugging his kettle in, but then settles for pouring himself a glass of water from the tap.

The couple next door seems to have stopped fighting. Louis is happy for them, really.

Louis hears his phone vibrating on his bedside table. He had already gone through the voicemails from his mum, and no one else had texted him while he was gone. Pretty much anyone who would have contacted him knew he was gone and that he wouldn’t be in a state for communication for at least another couple days. Louis isn’t sure who that could be.

Well. He knows, on some level, that it could be Harry, seeing as Louis had just texted him.  
It could be Harry texting to announce his undying love and willingness to move to Sheffield immediately.

Or, more likely, as Louis’ tired and pessimistic side kicked in, it could be Harry texting ‘who’s Louis?’

Except not. Maybe.

“Niall would kill me if he could see me now,” Louis mutters to himself as he walks back towards his bedside table. One of the benefits to living in a studio, he thinks to himself, is easy access to his bed at all times. Sadly, most days this convenience helps him crawl into bed by 20:00 as opposed to falling into it whilst trying to rip a bloke’s trousers off. 

Staring at him on the screen is, of course, a text from one Harry Styles. 

_Louis from PR!!!_

Another message buzzes in right after.

_I’m glad you texted! My holiday was great... just got back two days ago... mostly got over the jet lag_

Louis grins into his phone. Glad he texted?

 _Still fighting that battle myself,_ he taps out. Then, before he backs out again, adds, _...are you as fit with a tan as you were when I saw you??_

Louis feels himself blush as he looks down at his phone. He can see Harry’s responding.

_heyyy... there is no way for me to answer that without seeming full of it..._

_So yes?_ Louis feels his grin spread achingly wide. He lies back on his bed, picturing a very tan Harry doing the same.

A picture message comes through instead. The visual certainly helps.

The picture is a tan Harry, very similar to the one Louis remembers from that night. It’s nice to know that Louis’ memory is still pretty spot on. Louis would’ve hated himself if he spent the last week pining over a guy who wasn’t that fit. Luckily, Harry is every bit as fit as that night, but maybe even more so, his skin definitely a few shades darker, making his eyes and his teeth seem impossibly brighter. He’s making a goofy face at the phone, reminding Louis more of the boy that tried to break into a historical landmark, and less like the boy who effectively seduced him in the hot tub. 

_definitely yes_ , Louis sends.

 _your turn ;)_ , Harry responds. 

Louis suddenly remembers that he’s naked. While Harry probably wouldn’t say no to a nude, just a quick assumption, Louis’ better judgement kicks in and he thinks that he should probably not send a cock shot to a near stranger. Even if he has fingered said stranger. 

He angles his phone camera so it’s not super obvious he’s naked. His headboard and bedside table sneak into the photo, giving Harry a little bit of insight to his sad, sad, every day life.

He sends it. A response comes through a minute later.

_Shit please delete mine... you are like a bronze english god in comparison..._

Louis doesn’t know quite how to respond at that. Thankfully, Harry sends another text soon after.

_I bet you’re officially the only guy in Sheff with a tan, ha_

Louis laughs.

_niall burned so yes. do the hipster types you hang out with in london make fun of you being all sunkissed?_

_definitely... lucky for me i won’t see them for a bit. won’t make it down there for a month or so i think..._

Louis scratched his head, messing up his damp hair. 

Didn’t Harry go to university in London? He definitely flew out of Heathrow. Louis distinctly remembers Harry saying that before things started to fade out. 

_do you not live in london? I could’ve sworn you said you did??_ , Louis types out, frowning slightly. What if Harry lived in, like, Plymouth or something. Or worse, Newcastle. He was friends with a Geordie, after all. Louis feels his stomach sink even further. This is cursed. He is truly pathetic.

_nope? I told you I was studying in nottingham right?_

Nottingham. Louis’ mind reels momentarily. Harry lives in Nottingham. Harry studies in Nottingham. Not London, three hours away, but Nottingham, one hour away. He could do one hour away. That was definitely something he was willing to do.

Of course, Louis hears Niall’s voice from back on the cruise. Louis’ moving too fast again, planning out things without consulting the other half of this operation. Who’s to say that Harry even wants to see Louis again? Louis shakes the nasty side of his brain off. If Harry didn’t want anything to do with Louis, he wouldn’t have responded to his texts, or wouldn’t have given Louis his number in the first place, even. 

There was hope yet. Optimistic Louis is here to stay, and this time, he’s going for what he wants.

***

“Welcome to Nottingham,” Harry says, as soon as Louis is within hearing distance. Louis had nearly crashed his car twice in the drive down, once getting on the M1 and once trying to find an open spot in the visitor car park. Of course, texting Harry his progress every five minutes probably hadn’t helped his focus, but Louis isn’t bothered.

To be fair, he had been looking forward to this day all week. He had practically forced everyone he works with to listen to his story about ‘Harry, the fit bloke in San Juan.’ When he had casually mentioned to Harry that he was thinking about taking a trip down, Harry certainly seemed interested in meeting up. Louis thinks this is a good sign.

“I’ve been before,” Louis says, waving as he walks up to where Harry’s standing. 

It’s interesting to see Harry in this weather, Louis notices. While Harry’s tan is still visible on his face and neck, the rest of him is now buried under a heavy knit jumper, overcoat, and skinny jeans. Louis says a moment of silence for the lack of visible knees and tattoos. Instead of a headband holding back his brown curls, he has a beanie pulled tight over his ears. He’s still impossibly fit, but Louis thinks they’re both meant for warmer weather. 

It’s still a little awkward, even though they’ve been texting all week, to see each other in person. Louis can’t stop replaying the hot tub scene in his mind, flashing back to dragging Harry’s wet pants down his legs, twisting his fingers inside of him.

They talk more about their respective holidays.

Louis tells Harry about the disastrous hike and how Niall almost fainted, either from exhaustion or relief, when they got back on their ship. He mentions Niall’s pulling techniques. He distinctly does not mention the fact that the girl’s friend had graciously listened to Louis compose an ode to a guy Louis had barely met.

Harry tells Louis about Zayn and Perrie’s big fight-- an argument over whether Chris Brown should be shunned from the Barbados playlist-- which lasted over two days. Harry, confused over whether he should mediate or take sides, chose to ignore it all together, and spent those two days avoiding the two of them as best as possible. 

“It involved quite a bit of diving behind stairs and bins,” Harry says, laughing.

It’s a bit sunnier out than they had expected, so they meander through Harry’s campus, chatting away. Louis wants to bring up the fact that he’d definitely, surely, like to have sex again, possibly dropping the whole babies and marriage thing into the conversation as well, but he’s waiting for the right time. See, the thing is that he likes talking to Harry, too. He likes Harry’s laugh, likes the crinkles around his eyes, likes the way he’s pushed the sleeves of his coat up instead of just taking his coat off like anyone else would. 

They stop by the Student Union to grab a couple of Cokes, and then sit by the lake and sip slowly on them. Well, Harry sips his slowly. Louis feels all fidgety, so he keeps taking small sips several times in a row before forcing himself to slow down.

The lake is calm, and as Louis looks around, it makes him miss his own brief dalliance with university life. There are a few students walking around, smoking cigarettes and lying about, pretending to study. There are even a few jogging further down, bless them. For all purposes, Harry and Louis are just two more small points around the lake.

But to Louis, they feel enormous.

“I should probably tell you,” Harry says, smirking, “that that first night was basically the best part of my holiday. I kind of couldn’t think of anything else the rest of the week.” Harry’s smiling down at him, now, and Louis can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Your hangover lasted that long, eh?” Louis teases.

Harry sticks his tongue out slightly. 

“No,” he says, drawing out the ‘o’. “You were all I thought about. You’re kind of unforgettable, and I’m mad at myself that I fell asleep before getting a chance to go down on you.”

Louis feels himself flush, and suddenly becomes very aware of all the other students milling about the lake. 

He briefly contemplates using his Coke’s condensation to cool himself down.

“Me too,” Louis laughs.

“Oh, you were mad I fell asleep before getting a chance to go down on you, too?” Harry laughs, reaching over to push at Louis’ shoulder.

“No, I mean, I thought about you the whole time. Told the old ladies at bingo all about you,” Louis says. 

“Ace,” Harry responds. “Grannies love me. But really, you should let me make it up to you.”

“Anytime, mate,” Louis laughs. As if Harry’d have to try hard to convince Louis.

“I live in the residences around that way,” he says, pointing to an area past where Louis had parked his car. “It’s no posh hotel, but...”

“Is there a bed?” Louis asks, already standing up.

Harry nods.

“Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t require a bed,” he adds, extending a hand to help Harry up.

“Just a hot tub,” Harry winks.

They don’t hold hands as Harry walks them over to his residence hall. Louis feels nervous, jittery for some reason. He’s very much aware of the fact that Niall’s words, his warning of sorts, is dangerously close to being a possibility. The part of him that floated with hope when Harry returned his texts is also the part that knows that this could just be temporary. He basically already has his future with Harry planned, he just needs to convince Harry that it’s a great idea. He just needs to not mess it up. Louis knows that if he does mess it up, it will be Niall there to pat him on the back and shove a couple pints at him. It’s the way events have unfolded in the past.

But Louis doesn’t want that to happen this time. He needs to get this right. 

Louis wants to kiss Harry again. He knows it’s coming, but he doesn’t know if he should initiate it now, wait until his trousers are off, or what.

Harry swipes into his building and leads Louis up the four flights of stairs. As they walk, Harry points out little memories and anecdotes, like the corner he peed in when he was too drunk to make it to the loo, and the flyer of the rapper Harry mentions had done some underground show on campus and froze in the middle of a battle. 

The hallway that Harry lives in is darker than the stairwell, a lightbulb flickering towards the end. It smells the same as Louis had remembered his own smelling like-- that combination of lemon-scented cleaner and musty incense. 

Harry ushers them both into his room before any of Harry’s neighbors come out. As soon as the door is shut, Louis’ moves to take off his coat, feeling himself burn up between the layers of clothes and the increased sexual tension. He doesn’t know where to hang it, though.

“Here, let me just,” Harry starts, taking Louis’ coat from his hands, laying on the desk they’re standing right next to.

Harry’s room is, in a word, tiny. Louis’ not surprised, of course, it’s a uni residence hall, but it certainly puts things into perspective. The bed’s not as big this time around, but it’s much homier here. The hotel in San Juan was all white, but Harry has multi-colored fairy lights strung around, a Van Gogh print tacked up to the wall, and a mirror with post-it notes full of reminders and affirmations stuck to it. Louis thinks he already prefers this time around better.

Louis feels the carbonation run through his veins as he looks at Harry. They’re going to have sex, definitely, but he’s not sure how to initiate it this time without the influence of alcohol. 

Harry laughs awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck.

Louis can’t take it.

“Yeah, I’m just going to...,” Louis gestures, before crossing the two steps that separate them, and kissing Harry soundly. 

Louis is going for what he wants.

Harry sinks into it, letting his hands fall to Louis’ hips. Harry takes a step in, and Louis arches back into it, aligning their bodies as much as possible. Just having this sturdiness lights up the fire in the bottom of his stomach.

Harry’s hands, colder than Louis expects, slide up under his jumper, rubbing at the small of his back. Louis steps away and quickly reaches down, and in one fluid motion, brings it up and over his head, letting it drop behind him. Harry’s eyes scan Louis’ chest as he reaches down and tugs his own jumper over his head, albeit less gracefully. 

Harry reaches out and goes for Louis trousers, unbuttoning them with a quick pop but then dragging the zip down slow. Louis hunches over to help push them down his legs, taking the chance to kick off his canvas shoes as he does so.

When he looks up, Harry is making quick work of his own jeans. Louis thought they were skintight, judging by Harry’s limited range of movement outside earlier, but the way Harry is tugging them down makes Louis suspect that there’s probably more spandex than denim woven in them. Harry toes off his suede boots and peels off his socks with more patience than Louis seems to possess. 

Harry’s wearing black boxer briefs, and Louis can’t help but reach out and pet at Harry’s thigh, feeling the light peach fuzz dusting his legs. Harry clutches at Louis, drawing them back close together, as he leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Louis. Louis feels the cold metal of Harry’s necklaces pressing up against his own chest, and he moves his left hand to grab at them, wrap them around this hand, draw Harry impossibly closer with them. 

Harry’s hand drops down to Louis’ crotch, pressing in. Louis’ getting there, feeling himself get hard, and wants to feel Harry touch his dick. Pretty desperately, actually.

“I presume I have to provide the condom this time around,” Harry whispers, leaning away. Louis nods. 

“Hold on a tic,” Harry says, leaning in to give two quick pecks before turning to dig through his desk’s top left drawer. “Tada,” he laughs, spinning around and brandishing a condom as if it were a prize.

Louis raises his eyebrows and fails to contain his smile.

“Most excellent,” Louis says, holding his hand out for the condom.

Harry shakes his head.

“No, it’s my turn. I told you,” Harry laughs. Then, with the same grin still intact, he follows up with, “How would you feel fucking my face?”

Louis is not proud of the squawk that comes out of him.

“Pretty good,” he says, trying to recover.

“Excellent,” Harry says. He hoists himself on top of the desk he had just dug through, shoving their coats onto the ground, and beckons Louis closer. Louis complies, obviously.

Harry rips the wrapper open, and pulls the condom out, using his right hand to pump Louis erect before rolling it down his length.

“Pina colada,” Harry says with a shrug.

Louis huffs out a high-pitched laugh.

“Like the good ol’ days,” he teases.

Harry winks and then spins himself around on the desk. 

Scooting down further so that his legs are dangled off and down the opposite end, Harry lies flat, his mass of curly hair brushing up against Louis’ groin. 

“Perfect height,” Harry muses, as he reaches over his head to try and grab at Louis’ thighs.

Louis bats his hands away, and then tilts Harry’s chin backwards. Harry’s mouth opens instinctively, almost, and Louis is suddenly really anxious for this to start. He guides his dick into Harry’s mouth, just the tip at first, letting it sit just inside of Harry’s lips. Harry, to his credit, doesn’t move.

Louis takes a breath and guides more in, slowly of course, and he feels Harry’s tongue through the latex, pushing up against his cock.

Louis pulls out a little, and then pushes back in. He’s kind of amazed at how deep Harry can take it from this angle.

Harry’s eyes are closed, his cheeks pink and eyebrows furrowed, like he’s focusing on keeping his throat relaxed. It makes Louis want to laugh.

Louis presses his hand down onto Harry’s collarbone, still relatively light, and repeats the motion, fucking the wet heat of Harry’s mouth. He feels Harry’s tongue, hears Harry trying to slurp back saliva, and as Louis lets his hand slide up Harry’s neck and down to his mouth, he feels where his dick meets Harry’s plush lips. Harry’s got perfect blowjob lips, Louis muses as he wipes away some of Harry saliva.

Louis thinks he could probably come like this-- Harry wasn’t joking about liking blowjobs. Louis doesn’t want to get too rough though. He figures this probably isn’t good for Harry’s back either.

“Bed, bed,” Louis chants quietly, though he thrusts in and out of Harry’s mouth a few more times before pulling out completely, holding his dick so as to not accidently dickwhip Harry. Louis suspects Harry might not care, but well, Louis doesn’t want to test that just yet. Maybe in the future.

Harry sits up quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before standing and tugging Louis the two feet to the bed. He pulls Louis down on top of him, rutting up while he kisses him passionately.

“Turn around,” Louis whispers, pulling away momentarily. Harry raises his eyebrows, but does so. Harry sighs happily, however, when Louis presses himself against Harry, rubbing his crotch up against Harry’s lower back.

“Shit,” Harry sighs, reach down beneath himself to take hold of his own dick. Harry’s on all fours, Louis’ fingertips pressed into his hips, while Harry strokes himself. While Harry had mostly licked off the lube from the condom, there was still enough to make Louis grinding against Harry’s back smooth.

“This may not be the time,” Harry says, laughing at himself quietly, “but , um, can you come on me? Like on my back?” Harry’s head is twisted like he’s trying to gauge Louis’ reaction. Louis isn’t sure if there were a sex act Harry could name that he wouldn’t be up to trying right now. 

Louis drops his head down to Harry’s shoulder, suddenly very aware of how little they know each other. It feels like they know each other, sure, and Louis knows _he’s_ clean, but he doesn’t know if _Harry_ knows. Harry just assumes, which is... well. 

“Yes, yes,” Louis chants in response, timing his affirmations to his thrusts. Without losing too much momentum, he pulls back and strips the johnnie off, tossing it to the side of the bed before returning to his pace, grinding up against Harry’s back. When he feels his orgasm coming close, he pulls back and tugs himself quickly, twisting repeatedly and coming onto Harry’s back without guilt.

Harry groans as he feels it, rubbing himself through his own orgasm, his deep voice rattling through the space of the small room.

Louis tries to catch his breath. He’s not really sure what just happened.

“Jesus,” Harry sighs, leaning his head down to his forearms. “Definitely worth the wait.”

“You flatter me,” Louis says, though he’s definitely inclined to agree. He is suddenly so very glad he texted Harry earlier in the week. 

They lie in silence for a moment, catching their breaths. Harry flips over onto his side, propping himself on his elbow, letting his other hand rub slow, lazy circles into Louis’ chest, tracing the tattoos on his collarbone.

“‘It is what it is,’” Harry murmurs. Louis hums in response. 

“But, like, I also think it’s what you make it, too,” Harry says, slow and unsure, eyebrows furrowed.

Louis rubs at Harry’s cheek.

“Oh, Harry. Please don’t try and change my life philosophy. It would be very difficult to get this tattoo covered up.”

Harry nuzzles into his hand before leaning in for a quick peck, which proves difficult when he can barely purse his lips from smiling so broad.

“Do you want a cup of tea or something? I think I have some coffee around here,” Harry whispers, his eyes darting around the room.

“Mmmm,” Louis sighs. He could definitely get used to fit boys bringing him tea. At least this one fit boy.

Harry slips out of his bed and over to where the kettle sits on the floor by his bureau. He presses the switch down and listens for the tell-tale sign of the water heating up. Louis watches as Harry takes his necklaces off and places them on top of the bureau, before scratching at his lower back and stomach with a dry towel. 

Louis counts the freckles on Harry’s back from his spot on the bed. He’s really partial to the one that sits on the back of his thigh, right under his bum. 

Harry digs out a couple of chipped and stained mugs from his shelf, placing a tea bag in each. When he hears the click of the kettle, his fills them both most of the way, and then gingerly walks back to the bed with the mugs. 

“Careful not to spill any on your willy, then,” Louis teases. Harry sticks out his tongue before gently passing the mug over to Louis.

Louis bobs the tea bag up and down, slowly stirs it around, watching as the amber seeps from the bag and colors the water.

“I forgot to ask earlier,” Harry says. “How was your drive down?”

Louis looks up and smiles at Harry.

“Good,” he says, not mentioning the two almost-accidents he chanced on the way down. “Pretty fast. Not inconvenient at all,” he adds slowly, hoping he and Harry are on the same page.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, grin widening. “Good enough to do more than once?” 

Louis has to look down at his tea. He thinks his face might open and split in two.

“Definitely.”

Harry blows at the tea before cautiously taking a sip. 

They sit in quiet for another minute, and Louis lets something that feels like hope reach in and wrap its tentacles around his heart. 

“So,” Louis says, for want of a conversation, “would you say that despite the fact your mates fought for the majority of your trip, your holiday was a success?”

Harry nods. “Ten out of ten, would do again,” he laughs.

“Great,” Louis agrees. “So where’s your next destination, Harry Styles?” He lets the name roll off his tongue, wants to say it over and over again. Wants to sing it across the country, in ridiculously silly voices.

“Somewhere closer,” Harry reasons, thinking it over. “Maybe southern France? I love love love Marseille.”

Louis beams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I guess 3 makes it a habit, so I should mention that I have a [fic tumblr](http://www.decisionsandrevisionsfic.tumblr.com) now. Also a [personal one](http://www.decisions-and-revisions.tumblr.com), if that's more of interest.


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